The Sixth Sense Movie Script

COLE:

(whispers) She died a long time ago.

CUT TO:

INT. MR. MARSCHAL'S LIVING ROOM - MORNINGThis brownstone has been home to the Marschal's for many, many years. It's filled with a lifetime of memories. Memories shared by two people. Two rocking chairs sit side by side near the windows that overlook the street... A corner table displays fancy wooden chess set. The game half-finished, frozen in a layer of dust... An easel stands before a piano. The incomplete water color painting of a smiling elderly woman sitting on the piano bench sits sadly on the faded yellow paper. Malcolm takes in the living room silently. He stands near the open door. Cole walks through the room. Tiny eyes searching carefully. He leans behind the sofa looking for something. Malcolm watches Cole with a crinkled brow. Cole peeks behind the old piano crammed against the wall. MR. MARSCHAL Maybe Jill will play for us when she gets back. Cole turns to find Mr. Marschal standing with a glass of lemonade. Cole takes it from his shaking hands.

COLE:

Thank you. Mr. Marschal shuffles over to the sofa. Takes a seat. Cole begins surveying the room again. Beat. His eyes finally come to rest on a plant seated in the corner. He stares at it... THE LEAVES OF THE PLANT SHAKE SLIGHTLY FROM A BREEZE. Cole puts down his glass on a table and walks over to the plant. Cole kneels down and starts to push the potted plant aside. THE POT SCREECHES ON THE WOODEN FLOOR. Malcolm calls to Cole under his breath.

MALCOLM:

Cole-- MR. MARSCHAL What's going on there? Mr. Marschal strains to see across the room. Cole doesn't answer either of them. Instead, he continues to push the plant aside revealing AN AIR VENT. Cole gently reaches over and takes off the metal face. It slips right off. Cole's hands disappear into the darkness of the vent. They reemerge holding a STACK OF NOTEBOOKS.Malcolm becomes very still. Cole rises to his feet and carries the notebooks over to Mr. Marschal. Cole carefully places them on his lap. MR. MARSCHAL Is this for me? Mr. Marschal fingers the notebooks then reaches for his thick glasses hanging from his neck. He places them on the tip of his nose and inspects the notebooks six inches from his face. MR. MASCHAL What's this? Jill's keeping a diary. Malcolm takes an involuntary step forward. Mr. Marschal starts flipping through the notebooks. MR. MARSCHAL She's full of surprises... He gets to the last book. His hands become still as he stares at the final page of writing. MR. MARSCHAL (whispers) She hasn't written anything for some time. Beat. Mr. Marschal slowly looks up from the notebooks. Looks up to Cole. Cole just stands quietly. Mr. Marschal's eyes slowly fill with tears of realization. They gently spill down his weathered face. MR. MARSCHAL Oh no... Cole takes a deep breath. Trying hard not to cry himself. The sight of Mr. Marschal weeping shakes Cole. Cole softly lays his hand on Mr. Marschal's silver hair. Mr. Marschal reaches up and clutches his small hand. They stay like that for a while. Beat. Mr. Marschal lets go and brings the notebooks tighter to his body. Cole quietly walks to Malcolm who stands motionless. He stares down at Cole in a daze. Cole turns his head, crying.

科尔——马歇尔先生，那里发生了什么事？马绍尔先生紧张地看着房间对面。科尔都不回答。相反，他继续将工厂推到一边，露出一个通风孔。科尔轻轻地伸出手，摘下金属脸。它马上就掉了。科尔的手消失在黑暗的通风孔里。他们再次拿着一堆笔记本。马尔科姆变得非常安静。科尔站起身来，把笔记本递给马歇尔先生。科尔小心翼翼地把它们放在膝盖上。MARSCHAL先生，这是给我的吗？Marschal先生手指着笔记本，然后伸手去拿挂在脖子上的厚眼镜。他把笔记本放在鼻尖上，在离脸六英寸的地方检查笔记本。MASCHAL先生这是什么？吉尔在写日记。马尔科姆不由自主地向前迈了一步。马歇尔先生开始翻阅笔记本。马歇尔先生她充满了惊喜…他读到了最后一本书。当他凝视着最后一页的文字时，他的手变得一动不动。马歇尔先生（耳语）她有一段时间没有写任何东西了。击败马歇尔先生从笔记本上慢慢抬起头来。看着科尔。科尔只是静静地站着。马绍尔先生的眼睛慢慢地充满了实现的泪水。它们轻轻地洒在他饱经风霜的脸上。马歇尔先生噢，不，科尔深吸了一口气。努力不让自己哭。看到马尔萨尔先生哭泣，科尔吓了一跳。科尔轻轻地把手放在马歇尔先生的银发上。马绍尔先生伸手抓住他的小手。他们会这样呆一段时间。击败马绍尔先生放开手，把笔记本紧紧地贴在身上。科尔悄悄地走向马尔科姆，马尔科姆一动不动地站着。他茫然地望着科尔。科尔转过头，哭了起来。

COLE:

(softly) Stop looking at me.

CUT TO:

INT. BASEMENT OFFICE - NIGHT Malcolm sits still in his office chair. His eyes are fixed at a point in space. He brings a slim, black tape recorder to his mouth. CLICK.

MALCOLM:

April or March of Eighty-seven. Two weeks into sessions with Vincent Gray. I was treating a couple, Donald and Robin Wagner, who had lost their child to Leukemia. They were waiting with Vincent in the reception room of the downtown clinic. They were alone together maybe fifteen minutes. When I entered the room, all three were crying. The Wagner's progress from that afternoon was dramatic and sudden .... As if some door had been opened for them. (beat) I'm not at all clear what happened in those fifteen minutes. But I now believe Vincent tried to tell me something, show me something and I didn't listen. (beat) Cole Sear allowed me to witness something today. (beat) This time I'm going to listen.A long silence. CLICK. The tape recorder turns off.

DISSOLVE TO:

INT. BROWNSTONE - NIGHT Lynn holds a laundry basket on her hip as she fiddles with the thermostat in the hall. The house is cold. Lynn wears a winter jacket in the house. Lynn turns and moves into the shadowy hallway. No lights. The house seems somewhat ominous. Beat. Lynn's eyes dart to an open guest room like she just saw something. She stares in the doorway until a SOUND TURNS HER IN THE DIRECTION OF THE FAMILY ROOM. She picks up balled-up boy's sweat socks and dirty T-shirts laying on the carpet. When she reaches the end of the hall, she HITS A LIGHT SWITCH. The hall LIGHTS UP REVEALING A WALL OF PHOTOS. Lynn forms a tiny smile. Snapshots of Cole and Lynn's life hang before her eyes. Cole's birthday parties... Lynn and Cole at an amusement park... Cole under the Christmas tree... Cole on Lynn's shoulders in a pool... Cole with a group of neighbors at a barbecue... Lynn takes a step forward. Lynn's face betrays the fact that she notices something she never noticed before. She touches a photo of three-year-old Cole. WE MOVE INTO THE PHOTO -- COLE'S FACE SMILES AT US. LYNN'S FINGER GENTLY BRUSHES A THIN STREAKS OF LIGHT THAT CURVES IN THE BACKGROUND BEHIND COLE. THE STREAK OF LIGHT IS BLURRED, LIKE SOMETHING CAUGHT IN MOTION.Lynn looks to the adjacent photo -- the barbecue photo -- Everyone stands with hot dogs and sodas. Lynn searches the picture. Her eyes suddenly stop at the TINIEST BLUR OF WHITE LIGHT STREAKING AROUND COLE. WE MOVE FROM FRAMED PHOTO TO FRAMED PHOTO -- EACH THE SAME -- SOMEWHERE HIDDEN IN THE FRAME, SOMEWHERE NOT EASILY SEEN, LYNN FINDS A BLUR. Lynn takes it all in curiously.

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INT. COLE'S BEDROOM - AFTERNOON Lynn moves into Cole's room with the laundry basket balanced on her hip. The Walkman headphones on her head blares A MUFFLED TECHNO DANCE BEAT. Lynn starts picking clothes up around Cole's room. This bedroom is an eerie place. The shadows seem to make shapes and figures. All the furniture is wood -- old fashioned. The lamps, the paintings on the wall -- antiques as well. The most striking feature of the room, however, is the homemade tent created from bedsheets and blankets tied to chairs and bureaus. It takes up a large corner of the room. A sign hangs over the bedsheets. "DO NOT ENTER" Lynn grabs the spiderman P.J.s that drape over the tent. A German Shepherd Puppy sleeps on the pillow. SEBASTIAN lifts his head sleepily and peers at Lynn before returning to his slumber. Lynn slowly reaches for a picture frame that peeks out from under Cole's pillow. Slides it out... It's a VACATION PHOTO of a couple. Lynn and Cole and a man. The man looks in every way a larger version of Cole. The picture has a visible effect on Lynn. She lets out a shaky breath before returning the photo to its hiding place. Lynn pulls a pair of school uniform pants off the wooden roll cover desk next to the bed.The desk is covered with loose leaf papers filled with writings. Lynn's eyes are drawn to the papers. Her curious gaze turns serious. Her mouth opens a tiny bit involuntarily. THE PAPERS are strewn with lines of handwriting. Countless lines. Thousands of words... Some horizontal, some vertical... The writing moves in arcs and flows in various size -- written at great speed -- every word connected by a single pen stroke -- everything written in one continuous motion. Lynn slowly spins the papers, taking in some of the phrases... ...Christ break the freaking glass oh no God no what the hell is going on Quiet the damn baby I'll cut you I swear it someone stop the burning I'll kill you I'll kill all you bastard... The words go on and on. Lynn removes her hands from the paper. She pulls her headphones off slowly. THE MUFFLED TECHNO DANCE BEAT FILLS THE DEAD SILENCE OF THE EERIE ROOM.

CUT TO:

INT. DEN - AFTERNOON Malcolm stares as the rain pelts the windows of the den.

MALCOLM:

...So your dad lives in Pittsburgh with a lady who works in a toll booth. COLE (o.s.) What if she has to pee when she's working? You think she just holds it?

MALCOLM:

I don't know. I was just thinking the same thing. Beat. COLE (o.s.) You ask a lot of questions about my dad today. How come? Cole is playing behind the couch. All we see is the top of his head.

MALCOLM:

Sometimes, we don't even know it, but we do things to draw attention. Do things so we can express how we feel about issues... Divorce or whatever. Every now and then we get glimpses of things Cole is playing with peeking over the back of the couch, but we can't quite make out what he's doing.

MALCOLM:

One night, as an example... leave something on a desk for someone to find. The top of Cole's head stops moving.

MALCOLM:

Cole, have you ever heard of something called free-writing? Or free-association writing? Cole shakes his head, "No."

MALCOLM:

It's when you put a pencil in your hand and put the pencil to a paper and you just start writing... You don't think about what you're writing... You don't read over what you're writing... You just keep your hand moving. Cole has become very still. He looks right at Malcolm.

MALCOLM:

After awhile if you keep your hand moving long enough, words and thoughts start coming out you didn't even know you had in you... Sometimes they're things you heard from somewhere... Sometimes they're feelings deep inside... (beat) Have you ever done any free- association writing, Cole? Beat. Cole nods, "Yes."

MALCOLM:

What'd you write?

COLE:

Words.

MALCOLM:

What kind of words?

COLE:

Upset words. Beat.

MALCOLM:

Did you ever write any upset words before your father left? Beat.

COLE:

I don't remember. Malcolm watches him carefully. Beat. Malcolm waves the question off casually.

MALCOLM:

Can you do something for me? Malcolm smiles. He rises and grabs his coat.

MALCOLM:

Think about what you want from our time together. What our goal should be?